When worries start to settle 

with the dusk upon your shoulders

Or swirl between the shadows

and the fading evening light

If they flicker just beyond the edge of

each page as you turn it

But when you try to grasp them

they scurry out of sight

When they whisper, whisper, whisper

wild predictions in your ears

Of calamities and chaos

and the disasters we all fear

If they tangle up your sheets

just to snigger as you thrash

Or they race across your skin

leaving their footprints like a rash

It’s a part of growing up, my love,

when you start to realise 

There are things to do, that must be done,

that can’t be compromised

And though it sometimes feels too much

to do what you must do

Without you even noticing

your skills are growing too

Now, those cheeky little worries

are insistent little pests

They’ll still sneak in amongst your doubts

when you’re about to rest

And their chatter might convince you

that you can only fail

Or that you’re a fool to even think

your efforts could prevail 

They cause their mighty ruckus 

to be sure that you’ll take heed

But you can calm and quiet them

by stepping up to take the lead

You need only recognise them,

Acknowledge what they’ve said

Then hum a little lullaby 

as you tuck them into bed

So leave them be now, close your eyes

Let any tension go

Let your mind meander

Let your breathing slow

Farewell the night’s uncertainty 

and farewell the busy day

For the ship that sails for Dreamland

Is bobbing gently in the bay

The stars will watch you tenderly

like they so often have before 

As you cross the leagues of silky seas

toward that sleepy shore

There’s nothing more to do but

snuggle in and dim the lights

You’ve earned your rest; it’s time for sleep

So sleep well, my love, Good Night 

The mirror couldn’t rule the world

Unless it ruled each little girl

And before we uttered our own names

We saw our faces in gilded frames

Heard fairy tales of royal balls

Saw magic mirrors on all our walls

Oh mirror, mirror had us fooled

Had us believe that appearance ruled…

But now I recognise the ruse 

And I dearly hope that you do too

If we look with more than just our eyes

We will find where beauty truly lies

Body sinks, heavy with the day

As dusk falls, fear stalks easy prey    

Burrows beneath my ribs, around my heart

Dread lays on my chest

Weighs on every breath

I seek the fabled solace of the dark,

and Sleep.

Blinds drawn, dusk succumbs to night

Tired eyes at last relieved of light

But doubts dance recklessly about my brain

I’m granted no reprieve

The interlopers do not leave

Their agitated chatter does not wane.

And Sleep,

disorientated, wanders aimlessly

The relentless din pervades our sanctuary

I beg oblivion; mutely she declines

My bony orbits ache

Gritty eyelids wide, awake

And I keep vigil over squandered time.  is an answer

Iambic rhythm buoys my little song

Pentameter to count her beats to ten

Imagined dreams there gaily bob along

Aboard a craft constructed with a pen

A full fleet, fourteen, heeds this rhythmic tide

Bears forth my senses fished from depths anon

Those given form by this nib’s scratch and glide

A cargo worthy of a little song?

A pity that my ditty won’t pass close

inspection, since perfection’s not my aim

Yet with my little song I now can boast

that I have writ a sonnet all the same

But is its cargo rich enough for song?

Or never more than ballast all along?!

A sun Flower

won’t pain my eyes

or burn my skin, 

won’t vaporise

my breath, which I so carefully conserve

Yet still, 

with gentle warmth and joy it Beams!

and tenderly lights my heart

and, it, preserves

that it might pace my body’s march

through yet another day

They ruffle their feathers

Hop from branch to floor

to branch again

Twitch, blink

Eyes on this and that and over there

The colours! The shiny things!

They flit toward the space 

between the bars

and clutch cold metal with eager claws

clinging to their captor

They start to flap 

where there isn’t room to flap

Wings strumming an urgent rhythm 

on hard wire strings

They reach for the place 

from where they might reach 

their potential

They reach

To fly

To soar

To become

Thoughts and ideas

ricochet and thrum

against the insides of my skull

But my body is not well

I can’t open their cage today

Perhaps I am aboard a ship

And so the swaying in my brain is not so strange

But this tired vessel creaks

And empty rooms, and empty decks,

and miles of rolling seas lie in between

Where I am and where I thought I’d be

Might they venture back for me?

To see me? 

       (and see my silent tears) 

To hear me? 

       (and listen to my fears)

To know me? 

      (and know I still have hopes and dreams to tend)

They could help me take the helm 

and sail this thing to shore 

To where I’ll feel the salty sand 

between my toes once more

From the luxurious perspective of “afar”

I might appear weak, or fickle

Like a bumbling robot, that recoils 

from every little obstacle or bump

But I am recalibrating

I am choosing, again and again

to desist 

from crashing against the solid walls 

of expectations, incompatible with reality 

or with my wellbeing 

I will not limit my perspective 

by continuing in one direction, 

only because there was a time 

when I believed that I would, 

or that I should 

And so I try to navigate each path 

with optimism, curiosity and an open mind, 

Seeking glimpses along the way 

of insight, wonder

and peace for my soul

And I tread its unique terrain

until I can go no further, 

or until I realise 

I no longer want to

I am not giving up

I am recalibrating

Because I finally recognise my wisdom 

Born of my own experience

And value myself enough 

to pursue the paths where I might 

move more freely

or feel more like singing,

where my actions can align with the call of my soul

I choose recalibration

So that I might keep exploring this world and its humanity

and the countless unknown spaces

where I might yet belong.

Anguish breached the numbness

Slick with shame. 

Too long lost at sea

I agreed to ECT..

Dazed brain could scarcely retain

Any images

Neither moments enjoyed 

nor moments endured

Those memories dissolved 

dissected 

disconnected

The slippery fragments drift 

untethered 

in a dark sea, years wide and deep

Ready canvases remained blank

And a chest, devoid of treasure, sank

Now we dig for treasures in the sand

Sunlight glinting off wet skin, small hands

Beaming, he clambers up

And into my embrace, 

into his space 

moulded by a thousand

unremembered hugs

Weeks trickle by, June, then July

Finally a hairline crack appears

Pressure builds, pain distilled

And through the crack there seeps a tiny tear

This dam will break

The torrent rush and dump and wash away

This soul will ache

And heave and gush and wrack some more each day

What on earth remains

After all that heartache drains?

Foundations sodden, weakened to the core?

Only time will tell

Strength might fill this well

New walls might hold the self-love that I’ve mourned

(Trigger warning: this poem refers to illness, death and low self worth. I strongly recommend reading Part 2 afterwards)

I suppose, when I am dead,

they’ll know what to expect of me – 

my input and my output I’ll maintain

Consistency’s the key, you see, 

to meeting expectations

And when I’m dead, it’s dead I will remain!

Nobody’ll be frustrated

if their birthday card’s belated

No more coffee catch-ups cancelled on the day

If the chores begin to pile

I won’t be resting all the while,

as others toil to clear them all away

When the day has not been easy

I won’t suddenly feel queasy,

abandoning my post amidst the rush

And when the kids are crazy

no-one will wonder if I’m lazy

when I still sleep but they are forced to hush

When the pressure starts to rise

They won’t see anguish in my eyes  

(no need to fret about my mettle too)

And if I’m not right there

they’ll know it’s not that I don’t care (If only I could show how much I do)

No

I’ll raise no more false hope

that makes it hard to cope

when my body doesn’t rise, but falls instead

Indeed

Contemplating final curtains

I can, at least, be certain

that I’ll be quite predictable when I’m dead!

At least if I’m alive

they can expect my ‘best available’ 

which is surely a better best than if I’m dead

I listen very carefully

and journey with them, mentally

(since I cannot often venture far from bed)

My illness evolution

has curtailed my contribution

But there must be ways that I still ‘value add’

I can put a load of washing through

— I sometimes even fold it too —

so the family is mostly cleanly clad

I screen the streams of notes from school

I pay most bills before they’re due

I remember bin day (almost every time)

And more than once the groceries

I ordered for delivery

have got us out of quite an awkward bind

And when my body won’t perform

there’s still so much joy and warmth

in moments shared just chatting quietly

And it’s actually got me thinking

that I probably am worth keeping,

and I might even be quite good company!

No 

A person’s worth can never 

just be tallied on a ledger

— the whole transcends the limits of the parts

Indeed

It deserves appreciation

maybe even celebration

that while I am still here, I’m here with all my heart

Leave your plans behind

Proceed to nearest exit

This is not a drill

Cut flowers in jars

Bloom brightly, fade quietly

Alive, not living

M.E. doesn’t care (for standardised criteria or changes in nomenclature)

ME mocks nomenclature

A thorn by another name

draws blood just the same

Weakened by continuous struggle

Majestic, heroic, ferocious creature

Her limbs finally collapse

There she lands, with a soft rolling thud

Nothing more; her last breath escapes

Rains and winds, nature’s wild energies

Wash and knead the creature

Deep into the soil

There her body lies, moist earth banking up

Time passes

Resting deep within Earth’s bosom

So quiet

The flesh now gone, only bones remain

Rains still fall and course down through the earth

Transform the bones, the last trace of past life

Now fossilised, can’t be revived

Voice:

"Stay? 

Sitting as you are, 

but for just a little longer 

"For it is only in your stillness I am free

Only in your silence can you hear

You’ve paused exactly there on many other days

But I just couldn’t reach you

before you walked away

"Please, today, stay that extra moment

I’ve so much I’d love to say

Words that you don’t hear

Above the clamour of your days

"At times I can but whisper

At times I’ve screamed so loud

But even when you’ve heard me

You didn’t recognise the sound 

"I am making my way toward you now

Through the bluster and the din

I can meet you right there, where you are

Just say you’ll let me in"

Reflection:

I think I’ve always felt some deep yearning, 

for something I couldn’t identify 

Where I could almost hear a call

in the silence between breaths

And I have looked and scanned, explored and pored, sought and scrambled 

and even tried to buy contentment for my soul

When all along the stirring in my centre 

and the busyness in my brain 

continued to confuse each other, and myself

Because it turns out that I 

have always been the answer to that call, 

if only I had known the language to respond

It was never a call to another place 

or a call to some greater cause

But my own call to come home first, to myself, 

to know and embrace the raw unpolished truth of my soul 

so that I can belong, wherever I may be

When home is not a location or a role, 

When I know and trust myself enough 

to hear and listen to the call of my own voice

Then I become free 

to belong anywhere and everywhere, 

in any